My Toxic Golden Boy

In my past life, my childhood friend—the star quarterback—threw away his Ivy League scholarship for some hood rat, even getting mixed up in drug deals. When I tried to pull him out of the gutter, I got shanked by gang members on a cold, rainy night.

Yet there he was at the police station, holding that trashy girl tight, telling the cops: "Emma had it coming. Always butting in, trying to run my life."

Second time around, I'm back to the day he begged me to cover for him with coach so he could take that girl to get an abortion.

I looked into his desperate eyes and gave him my sweetest smile, taking the fake sick note: "Don't worry, I've got you covered."

I died for you last time. Your turn now.

Emma's POV

"Emma, PLEASE! Tell Coach Miller I had stomach cramps and went to the hospital. Casey's all alone at the clinic—she's falling apart without me. I HAVE to be there for her!"

The frantic voice exploded in my ears.

I jerked my eyes open, gasping for air. My stomach still throbbed with the phantom pain of a switchblade. I clutched my abdomen, but instead of warm blood, I felt the smooth cotton of my uniform.

Before me stretched the bright school hallway. Luke stood there in his blue and white jersey, blond hair messy, panic written all over his face as he gripped my shoulders.

Here we go again.

Everything came rushing back—tomorrow was the state semifinal, the game that would decide Luke's full ride to USC.

And of course, right NOW, that street rat Casey was pregnant with some random guy's baby, crying on the phone for Luke to hold her hand through an abortion.

Last time, I acted like some kind of saint, grabbed his arm, BEGGED him not to throw his future away. Luke stayed, but he tanked the game on purpose out of spite. Afterward, he blamed ME for everything. From then on, he went completely off the rails—skipping class with Casey, doing drugs, hanging in the projects.

And me? I tried to pull him out of that cesspit with my own college fund, only to get cornered in an alley by Casey's ex-con boyfriend and stabbed thirteen times.

While I bled out on the pavement, Luke was running down the street holding Casey's hand. He never even looked back.

"Emma! Are you even LISTENING to me?" Luke tightened his grip, irritated. "Casey's a mess—she's falling apart without me. You're the star student. Coach trusts you more than anyone. Just cover for me this once. Nobody will question it."

I stared at his martyred expression and almost laughed.

How had I ever thought he was some golden boy? He was just another horny idiot thinking with his dick.

"Sure." I brushed his hands away.

Luke froze. Clearly hadn't expected me to cave so easily.

"You... you'll help me?"

"Of course." I smiled sweetly, plucking the forged sick note from his fingers. "Casey really does need you right now. The game's important, but how can it compare to true love? You should go. Don't keep her waiting."

Luke's face lit up, pulling me into a quick hug. "Emma, you're the BEST friend ever! You really get it! I'll buy you pizza when I get back!"

He spun around and bolted toward the exit.

I watched his retreating figure with cold eyes.

Best friend? Looking at you makes me sick.

That afternoon during practice, when Coach Miller realized his starting quarterback was MIA, his face went thundercloud dark.

"Where the HELL is Luke? We've got semifinals tomorrow and he pulls this shit?!"

I took a deep breath and approached with the note.

"Coach Miller, Luke asked me to give you this." I handed over the paper. "He said his stomach cramps were really bad—had to hit the ER."

Coach Miller snatched the note, scanned it, then let out a bitter laugh. "Stomach cramps my ASS! I saw that little punk on his motorcycle in the parking lot thirty minutes ago!" He looked at me sharply. "Emma, you're a good kid. Don't lie for that waste of space."

I dropped my gaze, letting just the right amount of conflict show. "Sorry, Coach. I'm just delivering his message. I don't know anything else."

Coach let it slide. He ripped the note to shreds. "FINE! He doesn't want to play? He's NEVER stepping foot on my field again! Get the backup ready—he's starting tomorrow!"

I stepped back into the crowd, listening to teammates trash-talk Luke while feeling absolutely nothing.

Luke, you thought you could have it all? You overplayed your hand.

After school, instead of going to Luke's house to tutor him like usual, I headed straight to the library.

I opened my laptop and logged into the Ivy League early admission portal. Less than two months until deadline, and my stats were solid. Just needed to polish my personal statement to perfection.

Last time, I'd wasted too much time cleaning up Luke's messes, half-assed my application essays, and ended up at some nobody state school. This time around, I wouldn't waste a single second on dead weight.

At eight PM, I closed my laptop. My phone lit up with a text from Luke.

The photo showed Casey leaning against his shoulder, holding a cheap milkshake, both of them grinning at the camera like idiots.

The caption read: "Thanks for covering for me. She finally said yes to being my girlfriend! We're gonna be together FOREVER!"

I glanced at it once, then deleted it.

Forever? We'll see about that.